


The Ground Will Fall From Your Feet

by ProwlingThunder



Series: The Everlasting List of Shenanigans [205]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Amicitia Shields, Camping, Child Soldiers, Classism, Gen, How Not To Make Friends, Insomnia Culture, Insomnia Royalty, Interpersonal Relationship Issues, Regis cannot talk to normal people, Regis' Life-changing Field Trip, Royalty, Social Issues, Socializing Is Hard, Soldiers, Storms, Sworn Bodyguards, Sworn Shields, Teenagers, The Perils of Social Classes, Worldbuilding, crownsguard, pre-game, road tripping, social classes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: "Your Highness, you shouldn't be out here!""Neither should you!" Regis yelled back-- had to yell, as the wind threatened to sweep his words away like he hadn't even spoken. "What are youdoing?"





	The Ground Will Fall From Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lindwyrm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindwyrm/gifts).



> 100+ Words Meme  
> Two and a Number Meme: Cor and Regis (FFXV) [#96: Storm]
> 
> Title from [Wishbone Ash's Rainstorm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6fFhmbk9vA).

The tent was small for five people, but Cid had brought one of his own, and Regis had had to admit he was _glad_ for it, when he'd learned his father was sending his own flinty-eyed bodyguard with them, as if he didn't respect Clarus' capacity as his Shield. He remembered the long look Clarus had sent to _his_ father, and the quiet look he'd gotten in return, saying volumes of things that Regis wouldn't understand, the way things were _not_ said by the Amicitias.

Regis didn't have that with his father. He'd protested it, in his own way, with words and a furrowed brow. _"I have a Shield already, Father."_

Mors had sighed, tired, exhausted, honestly. _"And now you have a sword to match it,"_ he'd said, and that was that.

They'd set Weskham in Cid's tent purely because there wasn't _room_ for four people in Regis', not with Clarus' bulk taking up most of the space, and Weskham was one Regis _knew_ wouldn't wake Cid up in the middle of the night by moving around. His newfound sword, on the other hand..

Regis patted the empty space beside him and frowned, peeling bleary eyes open. The sleeping bag was gone from its place, rolled up and neatly secured next to a simple square pillow, ready to be stored away again in the morning. The tiny slat of space-- comparatively, anyway, Regis didn't _sprawl_ when he slept, and neither did Clarus, but between the two of them they definitely took up more than two-thirds of the floorspace-- was devoid of life where there should have been a teenager.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to let himself adjust to the new position. Outside, the sound of rain and occasional crack of thunder was the disjointed lullaby they had fallen asleep to, their nightlight the glow of the haven's runes and distant flashes of lightning. Not so distant, now, and the thunder was drowned out by the crash of rain, if there was any thunder at all. Wind pushed and pulled against the sides of the tent, rattling the sides, but Cid had anchored the tents down and said they'd survive whatever Ramuh could throw at them.

Regis wasn't as sure about that, but they were at least a day out from the nearest settlement still and too tired, besides. He hadn't been about to ask Weskham to drive through the rain _and_ the dark together, even though it had meant they'd have to _camp._

...at least the tent was as water-resistant as Cid had said it was. There wasn't a single drop inside.

There was also no _Cor Leonis_ inside it.

He peeled back the sleeping bag, letting the top drape over Clarus' form; his Shield stirred at his movement, suddenly alert. "Regis?"

"I'll be back. Just have to make trip to the gentleman's chambers."

"In _this_ weather?" Clarus rightfully sounded bewildered. "Just piss in a bottle."

"That is hardly more dignified than a _tree,_ Clarus."

"You're not going to piss behind a tree-- if you get off this Haven I swear on the Six--"

"I'm going to find a _rock,"_ Regis managed, trying to disguise his own climbing, _horrified_ embarrassment at this entire conversation and failing entirely. "A rock! And you shall leave me to the bodily functions of lesser men in _privacy,_ please and thank you!"

For a long moment, Clarus stared at him, blue eyes narrowed. Finally he frowned and relaxed back into his own sleeping bag. "Ten minutes. If you're not back by then, I'm dragging you back, whether you're finished or _not._ And you'd _better not_ leave this rock."

Regis decided to make for the tent's zipper than to wonder why there was an imposed time limit in this instance.

It was triple layered; bug screen, then waterproof, and then beyond that a tiny little overhang affixed to the ground with more tent spikes where someone could kneel to close the layers in just such weather without spilling water inside. It had its own flap and a loop at each of the bottom corners to hold it to the ground, though it wasn't enclosed at the bottom like the tent was. The bottom of Regis' feet were drenched by the time he got it open, which was an absolute mistake, honestly, because he did _not_ need a shower and received one anyway. Closing it was a fight against the wind.

Then he turned to search out the rock formation that bit into the haven, because he really _did_ have to answer nature's call, and had to stop. Because there was the teenager his father had sent with them, hunched under a lean-to made with the silvery survival sheet, anchored at the corners and backed by the stones Regis had been planning to use to maintain his dignity. A tiny, sputtering flame managed to burn inside the overhang, and the silver of the sheet reflected it back, making the whole thing glow a cheery and inviting shade of warmth.

He stumbled that way and barely made it a few steps before the teenager-- _teenager,_ a part of Regis' brain protested-- was in front of him, frowning intently. Drenched, from head to two in _moments._

 _This_ was the reason he didn't like the outdoors. He could not wait for this awful war to be over. Hopefully Accordo would agree to aid them, but in the meantime, the soldiers needed his support.

"Your Highness, you shouldn't be out here!"

"Neither should you!" Regis yelled back-- had to yell, as the wind threatened to sweep his words away like he hadn't even spoken. "What are you _doing?"_

Leonis-- Cor Leonis, his father's gifted blade, the _teenager_ his father expected him to use as a weapon frowned _harder_ at his question, which was _ridiculous_ because _honestly, there was a tent for a reason._

Regis saw his mouth move in answer, but he couldn't hear the words, and when Leonis seemed to realize he didn't-- had that been a question, Regis wondered-- he motioned back to his _incredibly_ small campfire and the dry pocket around it. Regis stalked for it. The only luxury of this rain was that it was _warm._

\--Leonis' overhang blocked out quite a bit of the wind, though the edge of it flapped in a way that Regis didn't like. He moved further into the interior, kneeling next to the tiny fire and leaving wet footprints on dry stone. _Dry_ stone. How long had Leonis been outside the tent?

Leonis stayed standing, but he was short enough to do that and Regis wasn't, anymore.

"Sire, you should have remained inside the tent with your Shield."

"I do not recall asking your opinion," Regis replied, imperious and _outraged._ How long had Leonis been _out here?_ How had neither he nor Clarus woken when he left the tent? He looked up and saw the young man's jaw work, his expression-- not something Regis could read. Some combination of surprised and upset, perhaps, though it was more complex than that. He saw that combination _often,_ during royal duties. And still more, whenever they were at their bases, though that was different, too. And this was different _still,_ in a way that Regis didn't know. He had seen this youth often at his father's side, not quite an equal apart from Laurestine, but not _unequal._

 _Something_ about this boy had made him fit to serve his father directly, an immediate and personal guard.

Finally, Leonis' knees bent, and he lowered himself to the stone, a single knee beneath him. He _bowed_ , one hand on his knee and the other before him on the ground, loosely fisted, the picture of submission. "Forgive me, your highness. I spoke out of turn."

 _You did,_ he agreed. And yet some part of Regis he would never admit to having was panicking, just a bit. The part that was still alarmed that there was a teenager out in this _disastrous_ weather instead of _in the tent_ like he _belonged._

The part of him that was the _Prince of Lucis_ was sardonically amused and _inordinately_ pleased by the presentation. A blade of his father was expected to kneel before no one but King Mors.

Regis stuffed that part of him down fiercely. He was wet and ill-entertained, and he still had business to attend to on the other side of this rock, and-- "Why are you out here, Leonis?"

Leonis didn't raise his head. Didn't meet Regis' gaze, didn't even look up, and no small part of him was _angry_ about that. "Keeping watch. I judged--"

"I did not ask your judgement," Regis cut him off, and Leonis fell silent, and that burr of anger dug deeper. It wasn't fair to be angry at Leonis. He was-- young. Younger than Regis, though Regis wasn't sure just how much. Apparently Clarus didn't know either, and neither Cid or Weskham had been able to prise it out of him just yet. And Regis was mad about that, too, the lack of knowledge. "Who told you to keep watch tonight?"

A muscle feathered in Leonis' cheek. Regis watched him, fingers spread over the fire, soaking in the warmth that was unnecessary. It wasn't a big flame, but there was a tiny pile of firewood nearby, made mostly of twigs, and he was silently impressed and entirely upset that Leonis had made it exist. It couldn't have been a _quick_ thing, in this weather and without access to magic like Regis had.

"Your Highness, I--"

"I did not ask for an explanation."

Leonis' fist tightened, Regis noted. Just a fraction. Otherwise, he didn't move, though Regis got the sense of him pulling in on himself. He didn't like that either. "No one."

"I see. So you took it upon yourself to waste resources this night." Not that he thought it truly constituted as a waste of _resources._ Leonis had to have collected this himself. It was hard to waste something that hadn't been factored in in the first place. "To risk yourself, leaving the haven--"

"I can protect _myself--!"_

 _"Silence,"_ Regis snapped, oddly gratified when Leonis went immediately silent, his half-raised body immediately falling back into supplication, head returned to its bowed state. As gratified as he was alarmed. He was a _teenager._ There was no _reason_ for him to accept the snap of instruction so readily, even from the Prince. "To risk _yourself,_ and to risk _us,_ leaving the haven to gather those resources without alerting anyone, leaving us exposed to threat without alert. More, to fatigue yourself with an unnecessary watch, and to risk yourself again to be out in this lamentable weather, as if you are something of which we can spare. That is entirely untenable, grossly negligent, and entirely unpardonable."

The way that the youth jerked to look up at him would have been laughable if it weren't absolutely _awful,_ because Leonis looked at him as if he had just announced that tomorrow, at dawn, he would be _executed._ Regis didn't like the awful way it made him feel.

But he was the Crown Prince, heir to the line of Lucis, and twenty years of training meant there was no such thing as a surprise great enough to leave him unsettled enough to _show it._ Regis' voice was steady, level and precise as any time he sharpened his words into a weapon. "Count your blessings, Leonis, that it is I who found you and not Clarus. He is not as forgiving as I."

The terror on Leonis' face didn't abate. On some level, he hadn't expected it to, but it was still.. painful. To see it. To see it and know he had put it there.

"I..."

"Return to the tent," Regis instructed, saw Leonis' jaw snap closed as he nodded, mechanically, and began to rise to his feet. "No," he stopped him, and Leonis _froze_ and Regis felt absolutely _wretched._ He stood up anyway, slowly, stepping around the youth. "Tend to this that you have wrought and then return to the tent for rest. It would do us no good to lose these supplies."

He stepped back into the rain, which was awful and Regis immediately hated all over again, and went about the necessary requirements of unfortunately being human. Then he returned to the dryness of the tent he shared with Clarus, who was moving to get up and _fetch him,_ and summoned a large towel.

"Took you long enough," his friend grumbled.

"I apologize." He vanished the wet garb to the depths of the armiger to worry about them _when Ramuh stopped making it rain._ He summoned a dry set and missed the comforting dressing gowns of Insomnia as soon as he put his fingers on the course material. "Hopefully I did not go over your allotment."

Clarus eyed the awful cloth in his hands. "You can always sleep naked."

_"Clarus!"_

"What? It's not something I haven't done. Kind of freeing, actually."

"It's _improper,"_ he hissed. _"Please_ tell me you are not doing so _now."_

"Easy, Regis-- dressed, I swear it."

Regis thought there was a mumble about... something, but his hair was wet and for all that the haven was too hard to get any real rest on, it was a bit hypocritical to take Leonis to task about not getting rest if _he_ didn't get any rest either. It was hardly as if he was _un_ tired. He tucked himself into his sleeping bag again and not for the first time mourned the loss of a real bed.

He was just beginning to fall back asleep when the tent unzipped and then zipped up again, Clarus stirring to welcome Leonis back in a tone that said he didn't know when he'd _left._

Regis fell asleep satisfied that his father's gift would still _be_ there, come the dawn.

 

If, tomorrow or the next day or the day after that, Regis caught Leonis clenching his jaw and flexing his fingers more often, he never caught him outside the tent at night, except when specifically instructed to take a watch or a Niflheim patrol bore down on them. No midnight fires burned, nor could he ever find a site where one might have been, save for where Weskham had previously placed one for cooking.

If, in the following days and weeks, Regis could not place a time when he saw Leonis look him in the face except when being specifically addressed, he could also not come up with a time when the youth spoke out of turn, responding to questions only when addressed directly and never offering opinions of his own volition, when he did not bow his head in deferential.

And if, in the months that would come, he overheard Leonis slowly warm up to Cid and Weskham and _Clarus_ but never himself, and he was awash with stabs of anger and grief that he did not know the proper recourse for, Regis could hardly be blamed for it, but neither could he blame _Leonis._ It was, after all, entirely Regis’ own problem.


End file.
